


I THREW MY RING INTO THE RAVINE. I DON'T CARE I LOVE DICK

by SolivagantSleepyhead



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Breaking Celibacy Vows, Guilt, HELLA GUILT, M/M, Religious Conflict, haha - Freeform, kind of homophobia but religion you feel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolivagantSleepyhead/pseuds/SolivagantSleepyhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want to write a cronkri fic where kankri’s vow is like</p><p>a literal piece of paper from church saying he wouldn’t do the thing with anybody until marriage that he signed when he was 13 and didnt know he was super gay so he was like ‘ew girls are gr9ss.’</p><p>but then he meets attractive cronus ampora with the perfect ass and he just</p><p>does the thing anyway</p><p>and they just burn the vow because its done kankri can never go back to youth group oh well</p>
            </blockquote>





	I THREW MY RING INTO THE RAVINE. I DON'T CARE I LOVE DICK

**Author's Note:**

> (inspired by the fact that I found my “True Love Waits” abstinence pledge signed by my entire Bible study from grade 8 or some shit and im still laughing omg remember when i didnt know how gay i was wow)"
> 
> also probably kind of offensive but i had to rant about this whole bullshit purity thing i had to go through when i was too young to understand that it was kind of seriously fucked up

You couldn’t remember an aspect of your life where God was not somehow involved, or, so you were taught to believe.

Whether you were eating, sleeping, learning, or even just staring out your window, you were conditioned to rely on the idea that even the dust slowly settling on your Bible was orchestrated by some omnipotent force surrounding you at all times. Even your body was meant to be nothing more than a vessel for expanding His kingdom in the sacrilegious society you found yourself in.

You were taught to detest your utter humanness as early as they felt they could hammer it into your still impressionable brain. By age 13, the topic for your Youth Group’s discussion that year would come directly from a Christian Resource Group known as “True Love Waits”. For the first time, your group of only 9 children was split up into boys and girls respectively, and both groups were given mortifying speeches on how disgusting you were for your utter ungodliness and sexual urges. However, they promised that the disappointment of God could be avoided if you made a promise. Nothing big—just something between you, your parents, the church, and, of course, God—that you would abstain from sexual activities until you had met your Biblical “mate for life”.

Needless to say, you had immediately complied. You, as well as the 4 other boys in your group, had signed identical promises to maintain your corporeal chastity until biblically wed to the woman God would provide for each of you. Honestly, you didn’t care too much about that, though. You had never had an impure thought about one of your fellow sisters in Christ; and anything you could possibly do to maintain your place in heaven was as good as done, in your book.

After all, as the son of the esteemed preacher, Reverend Vantas, you were not going to disappoint your father with your shameful human nature.

…

On the first day of your senior year, you saw him.

Cronus Ampora: the flirtatious Greek boy with the wavering accent and body that seemed almost like a carbon copy of Michelangelo’s  _David_  when you caught a glimpse of him by the pool during his swim team practice.

Oh, God; you hadn’t  _meant_  to look at all. You hadn’t woken up that morning planning to become enraptured by the straight nose, curving, full lips, and overwhelmingly blue eyes of this man, but you just couldn’t help yourself. You were a human through and through, and, even as vicious memories of what you were told would become of men who look at other men in  _that_ way, not even your Lord and Savior Himself could have torn your eyes away from the godly structure that was Cronus Ampora’s  _ass_.

The lust, shameful and humiliating as it was, you could have dealt with. You’d confess your sins in prayer, take a cold bath, and read through Romans 1.26 a few times and you’d be alright. You were bigger than this.

That is, until  _he_  was the one ogling  _you_.

Unlike you, he made no secret of his lasting gazes as his eyes slipped down your figure. He didn’t attempt to hide away his yearning as he took the opportunity to slide his hands up your thighs under the confines of lab tables, or grope your ass when you were stuck together in the crowded hallways. In fact, he did all of these things with a confidence that absolutely terrified you because,  _god_ , they always said that the Devil would be handsome, but you could have never prepared for  _this_.

So, nearing the end of your tense school year, when he’d invited you to spend the night with him, you’d agreed almost  _too_  eagerly. You’d tried (unsuccessfully) to convince yourself that your disregarding of your curfew hour was more out of a desire to finish your group project, rather than your unholy feelings for your classmate.

Of course your father hadn’t suspected anything immoral when you texted him an unusually trite “Staying at the Amp9ra h9useh9ld t9 finish my pr9ject with Cr9nus. I’ll 6e h9me t9m9rr9w.” so that he wouldn’t have to hear how  _revolting_ your voice sounded from apprehension as said group partner slid his cold hands up your sweater. Oh, poor, naïve Reverend Vantas.

“I’ve been thinking about this for  _ages_.” Cronus had muttered in your ear as you tried to push your blatant betrayal to not only your father, but to  _God_  out of your mind in favor of focusing on the cold hands snaking around your torso. “You’re so fuckin’ hot, babe.”

“I’ve—um, been thinking about this for a while, too…” You conceded, arching into the touch that sent electric tremors up your spine. And, suddenly, you felt you understood why God didn’t want you to do this because the intoxication you got from Cronus’s hands on your body far exceeded any “Spiritual high” you’d experienced in your 17 years of piety.

He smiles at you, but it’s not like usual. It’s not the kind of smirk he gives you when you slap his wandering hands away from your body—not playful at all.  It’s gentle and kind and this can’t be that bad, right?

“Mind if I…?” He questions, punctuating the inquiry by hooking his fingers over your waistband and tugging gently. You nod enthusiastically, mentally berating yourself for your complete and utter lack of modesty. You’re so drunk off of Cronus Ampora that you wish you could blame this on an actual drunkenness, because that would be the only way you could live with yourself after tearing away every brick of self-control you had for an ounce of carnal pleasure.

The two of you strip down slowly, languidly, until you are nude, pinned beneath him on his bed, every alarm in your system creating a cacophony of  _oh my god, too far. Abort, abort! This is wrong, this is sin, Kankri! You made a vow to father and church and GOD!_  But, then, his hands are sliding to the junction of your thighs and it feels good and sweet and  _right_. And, of  _course_  nobody would want you to do this, because this is the greatest thing you could ever imagine. And that’s it, that’s the secret, because people who know that it’s like this must have almost  _no_  reason to even attendthe weekly Mass.

He fucks you softly, whispering embarrassingly saccharine things into your ear while you fight the inner war with your guilt and this overwhelmingly rapturous sensation spreading like wildfire through every nerve in your body. When you come, it’s a shameful kind of perfection, because you’ve spent your whole life being taught how wrong what you’re doing is and the dangers of boys like you but, to be honest, you couldn’t give less of a fuck.

He holds you for the rest of the night, still muttering into your hair, trying to reassure you that it’s  _fine_. God doesn’t hate you. And you want to believe that he’s right, but you know that your father would actually fall over dead if he heard that Kankri, the son that was so enthusiastic about taking over the position of Reverend, just broke his vow  _and_ committed an act called an “abomination” by the Holy Bible.

You leave the next morning, allowing Cronus to drop you off only a block from your home so your father won’t see him kiss you softly on the mouth and promise to meet you outside the school gate on Monday.

You fake a headache and slip into your room, hardly caring that you’ve lied more in the last two days than you can ever remember lying in your entire life. What terrifies you, though, is that you don’t feel bad at all. There is no remorse for your dishonesty, your broken vow, and especially not for falling head over heels for someone like Cronus Ampora.

But, even so, your eyes wander over to the framed sheet of paper on the top of your nightstand. That document signed once by each of your Youth Group friends, yourself, and twice by your father. The blood red memory of a promise you chucked out the window with what appears to be every bit of caution you had left.  And it’s suddenly so  _hideous._

You smash the glass under your foot in a blind rage. Suddenly, you just feel  _livid_. This piece of paper has been oppressing not only you, but your peers in the church since the day they thought it appropriate to separate you all into groups and reprimand you for the most primordial of feelings. They used your vulnerable state as children to instill their values into you with fear tactics meant to degrade you for being the mere fact that you are humans.

Pulling the paper from the shards, you thrust it into your schoolbag for later before collapsing into your bed and crying enraged tears into your pillow. This was not okay.

…

When you approached Cronus the next day, it was obvious that he had already mentally steeled himself for the brunt of your religion-fueled temper tantrum. So, when you came stomping up to the school building, he stood at attention with open arms, inviting you forward so he could help heal the shatters of your previous devotion.

He was confused when you said nothing and shoved the piece of paper into his hands, crossing your arms over your chest as you pointedly refused to look him in the eye. His eyes scanned the paper for a moment, his brow knitting in concern before he burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“Oh my—oh my fucking  _god_! Are you actually serious?!” He cackled, pulling you into an embrace. “I’m s-so sorry, babe, but this is kind of hilarious!”

You huffed softly, breaking into your own silent laughter at the mere absurdity of it all. Before long, the two of you were doubled over, stomachs aching from your fit of amusement.

“Well, I guess there’s no use in keepin’ this.” He sighed; waving the letter in the air as he absently wiped a stray tear from his eye. “What do you wanna do with it?”

You stood silently for a moment, pensive.

“Got a light?”

Together, the two of you burnt your purity vow into ashes outside the student parking lot. Hands entwined as you watched the charred bits float away in the tepid summer breeze.

And you didn’t feel an ounce of regret that night when you wound up your arm, pitching your purity ring as hard as you could into the ravine.

Because the empty spaces between your fingers were the perfect place for his.


End file.
